Stratos Forever
by Viscoun
Summary: The current era represents a period of stability and sustained peace. But long before the Academy, long before the Treaty, the world was a much more volatile place. This is a prequel that looks into the beginnings of the Stratos program, and the sacrifices made to ensure its transition into widespread military use by any means deemed necessary.
1. 0

**_2053_**

 ** _Tokyo, Japan_**

Any inventor, eccentric or otherwise, would tell you that success is an old, beat-up workshop or garage, incandescent lighting swinging slowly from the ceiling, illuminating the plumes of dust that billow in the air, with even the smallest of movements causing the clouds to swirl and dance, hypnotic, entrancing, mesmerizing. Success is a stale mug of coffee on the counter, specks of dirt gathering on the surface as the laborer, fully in their element, toils to bring their idea of a glorious failure to fruition, success being merely a by-product. Success is the realization that inventions, whatever their intended usage may have been, ultimately serve only two purposes: to benefit future users of the product, and to satiate the curious minds of the inventors themselves.

It was the latter that drove one young woman, lacking in nothing from charm, intellect, resources, and ability to waste time, to begin work on the invention that would come to tip the scales of society in her favor, and the favor of those who associated with her. And as any woman will tell you, if there's one person that understands best the way a woman's mind works, it's another woman.

Her assistant eyed the cold coffee on the table with nonchalance, albeit with a hint of frustration this time. This was the fourth cup she had made today – the previous three times, she had ended up drinking the coffee herself. Once the cogs in an inventor's mind began turning in a certain orientation, they wouldn't turn any other way, no matter how hard you tried to make them do so. Right now, the inventor's focus was her work – everything else came second. Even meals. Even sleep. Perhaps even breathing, as the only sound the assistant could hear in the workshop was the faint, almost intangible hum of the building, and her own sighs. These were penetrated by the occasional clank, and a curse word immediately following that.

"Mikono?" came the yell, followed by a fit of coughing. At last, she was being called upon to do something.

"Yes?" The assistant peeked around the huge generator in the center of the room. Her employer was seated at the other end of the circular counter surrounding the generator, jabbing impatiently at the main console.

"Link the capacitor to the engine." The inventor placed her wrist between two jagged protrusions on the counter. With a flourish, the protrusions snapped together, cuffing her arm snugly.

"Will do." The console came to life, running its preliminary checks as green and red flashed across the console screen. The inventor smiled, and looked over at her assistant expectantly.

"I think this may be the one," she said.

"You've said that about the past two hundred and fifty two trials," came the retort.

The two bunny ears latched to the inventor's head drooped slightly. "But look!" she said, pointing to her forehead. Another electrode was there.

In fact, the inventor's entire body was covered in electrodes.

A body map flickered into existence behind the assistant. Checking to make sure every electrode was properly connected, the assistant nodded. The inventor nodded back, her smile growing.

"It's just another electrode. How can you stay so optimistic?" muttered the assistant as she turned back to the generator, and began making the final connections that would commence their two hundred and fifty third trial.

"Well…" The inventor scratched her head, the wires connecting to the dozen or so electrodes on her arm flailing with the motion. Raising her eyebrows in apparent confusion, she replied with an innocent "I dunno?" and giggled.

"How will one electrode change anything? That's my question." The assistant's finger hovered over the panel. The word "Execute" flashed on the screen.

"The intricacies will be hard to explain, but it basically just gives the capacitor a closer link to the brain." The inventor began pointing at different parts of her head. "You see, the influx implant was placed here, and the linkage chip is here. So if the connection goes through the retention chip, which is here-"

"Alright, I don't need to know." The assistant had been a biotechnology major. She knew enough about electrical engineering to get by, but years of study wouldn't have covered everything she would've needed to know to even scratch the surface of what the inventor had at her disposal.

The inventor was a genius, simple as that. She was one of a kind, and unlike many geniuses, she hadn't spent her entire life trying to advance one subject. Instead, as a child prodigy whose family had a background firmly entrenched in the Japanese military industry, she had always been tipped to help her home country create the one thing mankind perhaps needed, and yet dreaded the creation of at the same time: the "ultimate weapon".

And though the assistant knew her employer's intentions were pure, she couldn't help but wonder if the government was simply using her genius towards some kind of ulterior motive. No – it was _because_ her employer was so kind-hearted, that she had every reason to suspect that was the case.

But what could she do about it? Even by military standards, this project was top secret. So secret, in fact, that even the prime minister of their nation could not know about it. The revelation of the existence of such a device could revolutionize human society, for better or worse. It would most probably be for the latter.

"Detaching cuff," the console signaled. The loop around the inventor's arm was detached, and the inventor immediately made her way to the platform in the corner of the workshop, the electrodes popping off as she strode. Two robotic arms came forward to greet her, and embraced her, each holding one of the inventor's arms in place. Two plates rose from the floor, latching onto her feet. A third robotic arm descended from the ceiling, tapping at the detached loop, which now resembled an armband. The inventor watched the arm work with familiar warmth, in the manner of a mother watching her child take its first steps. It was as if the previous trials had never happened, and this was only the beginning of a long journey to come. Perhaps it was.

"Initializing."

The inventor nodded at the assistant. "Plug the engine, Mikono."

With a swipe and a few jabs at the panel, the armband rippled. A glow surrounded the inventor, spreading across her skin, fluid in its expansion.

"It's working!" the inventor shouted gleefully. The assistant's eyes were wide open in wonder, watching as years of tireless work finally, _finally_ yielded fruit.

The energy began to pulsate, and metal began gathering on the surface of the inventor's skin, tiny nano-machines bonding together, weaving in and out like threads, the armband being both the needle and the spool of the shimmering fabric. The particles began forming into recognizable shapes – here a barrel formed, there a pair of jet engines that began roaring to life as soon as they had materialized. The inventor rose into the air, propelled by the mass that had spread like fire across her body, the robotic arms pulling back slowly in reverence of their master's new form. They bowed, and their master smiled.

Two large clouds of particles coalesced at the back of the inventor's suit, floating apprehensively as they were shaped into two large, powerful cannons. The same energy that powered the armband now energized the suit's new armament, consisting of protruding small-caliber guns on her arms, two missile docks on her shoulders, and the two cannons at her back. Angelic in her appearance, the inventor reveled in the light of her newfound power.

The assistant, speechless throughout the transformation, could now only mouth one word: "Amazing."

The smile of the inventor was now as bright as the suit of energy that surrounded her.

"Behold," she announced to the world. Though the world could not hear her, it would most certainly feel the effects of her work for years upon years to come.

And Shinonono, the genius in question, knew it.

"The Stratos is alive at last."


	2. 1

**_2074_**

 ** _IS Academy, Japan_**

The science behind the Stratos engine is as arbitrary as it is complicated. Its most prominent defining feature is also its most controversial. That feature is the one that has finally allowed one gender to maintain the dominance over the other that it had inherently desired for so long. And anyone who even knows what a Stratos is will be able to tell you what it is.

It is the fact that only a person of the female sex can pilot a Stratos.

Having stopped short of asking Shinonono herself, who is exceedingly hard to catch and even harder to interrogate, various people have put forward theories as to why this is the case. Perhaps the biotechnology in the engine only responds to higher estrogen levels in the bloodstream. Perhaps the implants played some role in the selection process, although with various upgrades the implants had long since been rendered defunct – only Shinonono and the earliest testers of the engine had had those installed into their cranial lobes. Perhaps Shinonono had had some other purpose in mind for the Stratos.

Whichever was the case, women now dominated society, and now had vast control of the military, amongst other departments of human government. Men remained the simple foot soldiers they had always been, and now had to watch as their female counterparts coursed the sky, on wings that showed the most extreme discrimination to people of the "wrong" gender.

An academy, one of approximately high-school level, was set up in Japan, the home of the Stratos' inventor, and was due to begin accepting students by the start of the following year. People from various organizations across the world, governmental or otherwise, sent their best young female talents to Japan, in the hopes of having them represent their country as future super-soldiers, leaders, pioneers, and ultimately defenders of their respective nations.

But several years into the program, a discovery was made, one that rocked the foundations of the new female-dominated world. It was the appearance of a male, a young boy, who could operate the Stratos. Everything people had thought about the Stratos was turned on its head, and the boy was immediately enlisted into the Stratos program once he had reached the right age.

A boy in a high school filled with nothing but girls. The thinking went that little could go wrong, but save for the boy's innocence, perhaps there was more at stake than there seemed to be. Perhaps more lay beneath the academy's supposed proclamation of peace between nations, now that the Stratos was no longer a reason for one gender to feel privileged over its opposite.

Either way, little mattered to the boy in question, who graduated with flying colors, and emerged on graduation day as valedictorian of his year, three ladies on each arm as he spoke, his obvious oblivion to their attraction a small distraction for the women, and a source of great disappointment for the men. However, on such a momentous day, only a select few really were present to witness his launch into a completely female dominion.

One of those present during the graduation ceremony was a certain _Generalleutnant_ of the German _Heer_ 's _Panzerdivision_ , Lieutenant General Senna Holdt. With full colors emblazoned she stood on the stage, watching the backs of the new graduates as they lined up to receive their certificates, confirming them as another generation of the world's first super-soldiers.

She felt a poke on her elbow, and turned to see a face grinning at her.

"They make it look so easy now, don't day? Swanky academy, certificates, and all that."

"All part of the process, Nadia." Holdt glanced at the end of the line, far behind the almost endless rows of seats arranged underneath the crystalline sky. The outdoor auditorium was packed full with a variety of people, all of whom being of invariably great importance to their countries. "You know how much bullshit we had to crawl through for this to even have the slightest chance of coming to life."

"I remember." The South African Armored Corps Brigadier General allowed herself a small sigh. "The Foundation really did us in back then. I still don't really know if Shinonono knows what she's looking for with this… academy."

"You know her." Nearby, a petite Japanese woman, a small pink flower in her hair, three rows of spanking new medals on her chest, chipped in. "Tabane is a klutz, but not stupid. I have faith."

"Of course you'd know that. You've been stuck with her so long, you probably know her better than she knows herself."

Mikono chuckled. "Her mind is like an endless labyrinth being viewed from above. You can see everything, sure – in fact, she lays it bare for everyone to see. But you'd still never find your way to the center."

"I missed your analogies, Mikono." The fourth member of the crew clapped the fifth on the shoulder. "I'm betting Jade did, too."

Jade looked away. Fiorence laughed.

"Jade never did appreciate your brand of humor, did she? Wrong side of America and all." The last of the graduates left the stage, and Holdt, along with the rest of the audience, clapped in anticipation for the final farewell. She straightened up, and at the corner of her eye, saw the others around her do the same.

Two on her left, two on her right. The whole squad was back, and that made her feel immensely better. She'd fought with them, almost died with them, and had spent the better part of a decade getting to know them. The fact that they were all still here was a testament to their grit, and to the miracle – "gift or curse" question notwithstanding – that the Stratos had bestowed upon the world.

 _I can only hope,_ Holdt mused, _that with everything we've had to do, these kids won't have to go through the same stuff we did._

Twenty planes soared overhead, each with the color of the flags borne by the major signatories of the Alaska Treaty ten years prior – perhaps the only part of their work that the world had truly acknowledged.

With a final smattering of fanfare and applause, the graduation party dispersed, and Holdt made her way over to the star of the day.

"Hey, kid," she said, slapping Orimura on the back. Orimura stumbled and turned, utterly bemused. "Mind if I borrow your girlfriend for a bit?"

Orimura looked at the six girls around him. Holdt sighed.

"The grey haired one. C'mere, Laura. We're here to take you home."

Laura Bodewig, the academy's German national representative, glanced at Orimura, evidently reluctant to leave his side. Orimura gave her one of his trademark smiles, so cheerful and yet so heart-wrenchingly dense, and nodded. Laura nodded back, and gave him a crisp salute before turning away.

~...~

"How'd you find the school?"

They stopped at an intersection, and waited for the lights to switch. The airport was only half an hour away, but Holdt had insisted on the drive. The Japanese metro had always been a mystery to her, though she knew Laura had probably been taken on several trips during her three-year tenure at the school.

"It was alright. Clara helped me out a little early on. And Ichika was… well, it's not like he really helped me out. He couldn't, really. But he was there."

Holdt couldn't believe her ears. "That's the nicest thing I've ever heard you say about anyone."

Laura's cheeks burned visibly under the mid-afternoon sun. "I'm just saying! He was nice to me!" Her eyes fell. "I'd like to keep seeing him."

"You still have those other five girls to worry about. You should just find yourself a German stud, there'll be plenty who-"

" _No!_ " Holdt stopped short, and glanced quizzically at Laura. Laura's hand flew to her mouth. "I… I mean… no. There's no one else that… I mean… I don't think there would be…"

"Well, don't worry about it." The green traffic light flicked on, and Holdt brought the car tearing forward. Not that she was in any particular hurry, but it wouldn't be nice to keep the pilot waiting. "Once we get back to Germany, there'll be other things to get concerned over. Advanced training, stationing, and playing catch-up with the _Heer_."

Disappointment returned to Laura's features. "So I'd probably never come back?"

"Who knows? Maybe you could request a transfer to Japan. Or even become an instructor when you're older. Just like your beloved Orimura's elder sister."

Holdt's charge stiffened. "I wouldn't seek to emulate her. Not her, at least."

"That's all fair and good. But get through training first. Then we'll talk about where we can get you."

The plane was the only craft in the vicinity. The rest of the airport was an empty, vast space, with nothing but a carrier truck packing the last of the German representatives' luggage onto the aircraft. A soft wind blew across the expanse, and Holdt took the chance to have her last breath of Japanese air for a long, long while. She'd miss the place. It was like an Asian twist on Germany.

The interior of the plane was as swanky as they came, red velvet lining the floor, beige leather sofas sitting in twos, with tables in between each pair. Perfect for a chat over a drink, or a game or two of chess.

As the plane began its slow trek back to Berlin, Holdt moved the first piece forward, and leaned back, taking a sip from her whisky. Cold like the bottom of the ocean, and just about as refreshing. Which was not to say much about German whisky at all.

"Have you ever thought about working outside of Stratos, Laura?"

Laura's hand stopped, and the black knight hovered over the board. "Not in particular. I always thought I'd be here for as long as I was needed." The piece was brought down with a little more force than expected.

"I'm just asking. In truth, there's no one else I'd rather be leaving the _Schwarzer Regen_ with." The Black Rabbit, Laura's Stratos, was the strongest version of the mech that the Germans had on offer. And not only because it boasted vastly superior weaponry to, say, the French _Rafale Revive Mk II_. Holdt glanced at the black eye-patch barely covered by the streak of grey hair across Laura's forehead. "Not that, you know, we could really change that now."

Laura lifted a finger to her eye-patch, feeling the rough surface, the etchings, and the simplicity of the veil that covered the true face of German technology situated in Laura's left eye. "What would happen if, hypothetically speaking, I were to relinquish control of the _Regen_?"

"Let's just say that your eye-patch isn't going anywhere soon." Holdt pushed a pawn forward. "You were selected for this program because of your talent in utilizing this technology. Talent, potential, these kinds of things don't just go away. We committed, you committed, and that's where things stand."

"I understand." The black rook shifted into the gap opened by the white bishop's untimely departure. Check.

"Has Orimura been teaching you chess or what?" Holdt stared at the board, searching for a solution. None were to be found. "Or do they still play shogi over there?"

"It pains me to admit this, but Cecilia Alcott treated me with a few tips." Laura's eyebrows creased. "Not without a little initial consternation on my part, of course. I'd always thought I was proficient at the game."

"Well, whatever you thought you were, you are what you think you are now. Same goes with chess as with everything else." Holdt moved the king to the side in resignation. In one fell swoop, the queen was deposed from her place on the throne. The white king soon followed.

"What do you mean by that?" Laura allowed herself a small smile at the victory. It had been Holdt who had introduced her to chess, when she had still been a green at the army. How the mighty had fallen, it seemed.

"Well, for starters…" Holdt swept the pieces into a little wooden box hanging off the edge of the table. The board, being part of the table itself, could not be similarly disposed of. "Who do you think you are?"

"What do I think I am?"

"Well, whatever and whoever."

"A soldier." Laura paused. "A Stratos pilot-in-training. An engineer."

"Anything else?" Holdt pressed.

Laura thought for a moment. "No."

"Not even, say… a young girl? Just a young person? Any young person?"

The same finger came to Laura's eye-patch again. "It might be arrogant to say this, but no. Not just any youth."

"There is no arrogance in knowing that. It's the truth. But," Holdt held up a finger, "you must consider what you think of yourself, not just what the _Heer_ demands of you. When you showed your affection to Orimura – don't deny it, Laura," Holdt added as Laura prepared to interject, "did you do so as merely a soldier who saw use and meaning in associating with a fellow Stratos pilot? Or did you truly like him, from the bottom of your heart? Forget what that eye-patch makes you. A soldier fights for the people that they want to protect. They go to war to die for these people, admittedly whether they want to or not. All the more reason that a soldier should be able to show love without fear of any consequence."

"How about you then, Lieutenant General?" Laura returned, with a little defiance. "Have you ever fallen in love?"

"Not in the way you have." Holdt gazed out of the window as the last of Japan disappeared into the clouds. "But I have lost people I cared deeply for."

"I'm sorry."

That was surprising. From a person with a stoic exterior like Laura's, at the very least, it was. "No, don't be. I believe that since I was able to live through such experiences, I should be able to tell people about these kinds of things. Of course, not to offend, but you have it a little easier. The Alaska Treaty changed a lot."

"I hear you had a part to play in the establishment of that treaty, Lieutenant General. Is that true?"

"Well." Holdt's mind drifted back to a time, almost twenty years prior, when the world was a much more volatile place. Before the IS Academy. Before the Treaty.

Before her survival.

Holdt looked back at her protégé, expectant, stolid, and so precocious, yet still so unbelievably young, and still blissfully unaware.

"I suppose it is."


	3. 2

**_2056_**

 ** _London, United Kingdom_**

It was often noted that the inner city of London, though being a section of one of the most prosperous cities in the world, offered as much comfort and warmth as the back end of the Amazonian jungle on a rainy day. The occupant of one of the area's numerous terrace houses could attest to that personally – the mosquitoes had wrought havoc on her skin, but she'd come to warm up, in a purely figurative sense, to what scarce joys the Brazilian backwater had had to offer. Which included a variety of dangerous treks across the forest canopy and unsecured rides down the Tapajos rapids, but when you died for a living, anything was fair game.

The windy drizzle continued to slap against the window, and Holdt watched with one bored eye on the clock, and one equally bored eye on the view. Past the motel she was currently in, there was brick building upon brick building, and in the distance, amidst the thick early spring fog, the spindly silhouette of the Shard could be seen, a grey stem surrounded by slender steel petals that gradually fell away into the whiteness beyond.

The clock chimed, and with a sigh, Holdt rose to leave.

The rain greeted her with an almost nonchalant chill – she was perhaps barely the ten-millionth person to have received the best of British weather since the day had started. A taxi hurtled past, and the splash from the pool of water conveniently situated on the segment of road next to her piddled down the interior of her boot. _Excellent start_ , she mused.

In the distance, a ubiquitous symbol of London tolled. Ten rings from the Big Ben. Ten o'clock.

 _Late again._

She pulled her coat tighter towards herself, and hurried to the station.

"Late again, Sergeant."

Holdt nodded, and tried to look apologetic. She only succeeded in looking facetious.

"Don't give me that flippantness, Sergeant. You are late. Look serious, I'm giving you a lesson on punctuality here."

"If you'll forgive me, sir, 'flippantness' is not actually a word. And my clock was running late. I had not realized the time until the city clock had chimed."

"The city clock is also late, Sergeant. Ten o'clock means nine fifty-five on my watch."

"Then you must set your watch forward five minutes, sir. For the sake of punctuality."

"Try more lip on me and I'll send you to the Amazon. A place with which you should be more than familiar. Come now. Speak candidly, Sergeant. What was the hold-up?"

Holdt smiled. Colonel Colt was the best superior she'd been assigned to in a long while, and it wasn't just because his surname rhymed with hers.

"I lost track of time. I apologize."

"A very human error, and one that we may all be guilty of committing. Anyway, since you are already here in London, I'm assuming you've been briefed on the details?"

"If you mean details on why I'm actually here in this unbearably stifling climate, then no, I haven't been briefed."

"I thought a document had been sent to your residence. You live near Fulham, I believe?"

"Near Gloucester, sir."

"Close enough. Anyway, you should have received something."

Holdt faintly recalled disposing of a stack of paper lying on her bedroom table that she had thought to be scrap left by the previous tenant. "I believe not, sir."

Colt frowned. "We shall have to give you the full introduction then. All the better, I suppose." He gestured to the door. "Come with me."

~...~

Despite being located in the heart of a city renowned for its architecture, the headquarters of the Stratos Foundation was an unassuming, drab concrete cuboid, with one sole row of windows on the top floor, and a green garbage bin sitting at the front to mar the otherwise completely grey exterior. Four stories below the windows was the main entrance, and four stories below that was where the real face of the organization appeared.

The elevator seemed to travel forward in time with every floor descended, going from bland, old-fashioned reception at ground level to vibrant blue lights, steel conduits, and glass hallways at B4. The elevator, looking like a relic from just about every angle, somehow managed to announce "Floor B4" as the doors slid open to reveal a large, expansive chamber.

The Stratos Foundation was, unbeknownst to many, not just any old weapons contractor. Well, it had been, until it had enlisted the help of a certain Dr. Tabane Shinonono, back when it ran under a different name. The name of the corporation was changed in honor of Shinonono's breakthrough invention, ownership of which was jointly held by the company and the Japanese government. At the behest of the United Nations and the United States, the Foundation had invited delegates from several countries to test the "new product", though exactly what the product was had not been explicitly divulged to any of the parties concerned. They would have to see for themselves what the Stratos could actually do. Even the colonel had to admit he knew little past what operating a Stratos basically entailed. "This is some new-fangled stuff," he laughed. "Not for old men like me."

They weaved around a maze of consoles and blinking screens, all colored in some variation of grey and silver. A holographic map of various countries around the United Kingdom covered the center of the floor, as well as a diagram of two Stratos engines, one deactivated and in its bracer form, one fully activated with its array of weaponry on display. Cables snaked along the walls; vents covered the floor, letting out wisps of cold air. At one end of the chamber was a large screen, and at another end was a room with a two-way mirror, which Holdt and Colt now entered.

Colt shut the door, and the bustling and low hums from outside were immediately cut off. Thanks to the two-way mirror, Holdt could see outside, but no one could see inside. Evidently, the more sensitive side of operations undertaken by the Foundation was handled here.

A holographic tablet was already on the table. Colt switched it on, and an image sprang from the projector, displaying the Stratos Foundation's insignia.

"My guess is that you were sent here last month because you were the only one in the _Heer_ who understood English," the colonel joked. "Though I've heard that you're a bit of a loose cannon."

"That has changed, sir. Or at least, I hope it has."

"Maybe the Stratos will change your ways." The colonel made a swiping motion, and the image blurred, then came back into focus, now showing a diagram of the armed version of the Stratos."

"So, Stratos." Colt cleared his throat. "I trust you've heard roughly about what it is?"

"It's some kind of… exoskeleton?" Holdt offered.

"Pretty much. The word Stratos is, believe it or not, an anagram." Colt flicked the image again, and a series of words appeared.

"Symbiotic Technology. Remote Armament. Tiered Oversight System. S-T-R-A-T-O-S," he recited. "Also comes from the Latin _stratum_ , or 'layers'. Mean anything to you, Sergeant?"

"Well, "symbiotic technology" probably means this thing helps you out in some way. "Remote armament" means you can bring guns out without having to actually carry them. "Tiered oversight", I'm guessing, is some kind of computer that controls different parts of the whole thing. Layers, if you want."

"I see why they sent you now. You're indeed quite a bright person." The projector now showed a picture of the world, with little red dots smattered over its surface. "Or maybe you just have a good grasp on English."

"I like to think it's both, sir."

"Suit yourself. Now look here." He pointed at the United Kingdom, and drew a circle around it. "That's where we are." He drew another circle, this time around Japan. "That's where the Stratos was invented." He drew a final circle. "That's where you'll be training with the other testers."

Holdt frowned at the last circle, which glowed green instead of red, as the other two did. "Why there?"

"Because it forms an isosceles triangle with the other two locations. Don't roll your eyes now, that was a joke."

"The British are famous for their dry humor, I've heard."

"Well, now you get to experience the finest brand. Anyway, the real reason is that you'll be having your training in a rather… peculiar location. Let me say this beforehand: this wasn't my idea."

"What's so bad about where I'll be training?" An uneasy feeling grew in Holdt's stomach. "I mean, I've been to the Amazon, how hot can the place be?"

"Hot? Oh no, quite the opposite, actually. And where you're headed right now will be, in fact, the closest place on Earth to where you'll be training."

Holdt's heart dropped.

"With all due respect, sir, you can't be serious."

"Like I said." The colonel opened his hands apologetically, and shook his head. "Not my idea."

~...~

 ** _Hobart, Australia_**

"Stiffen up, ladies!"

It was common for superiors in the army to call new recruits the opposite gender of what they were, in order to purposely demean them and perhaps provoke them into working harder. Not that the drill sergeant here was doing such a thing, of course, since everyone present actually _was_ female.

"Now, I know it's cold." The drill sergeant was visibly shivering. Everyone else, all of them stood in a line in front of him, seemed largely unperturbed, and could only look at him with a shared sense of pity. "It's near the middle of autumn, so we've got a long road ahead of us. But!" he shouted, and suddenly began chattering. The recruits waited for him to finish, and after taking a few seconds to gather himself, he ended meekly with, "You know, if you can stand this weather, then you can stand just about anything."

"Who made this guy leader?" someone muttered, and everyone laughed. The drill sergeant managed a small chuckle.

"I'm just not a cold weather person." He motioned for the recruits to follow him back into the warmth of the training center, and almost began to run off, before remembering he had people with him. "I've been in the Sahara Desert, though, and that was fine. I don't know why they'd make me come here. Extreme weather experience, perhaps." Small puffs of snow began to fall from the night sky, illuminated by the spotlights surrounding the facility, and he urged them ahead.

Though Tasmania offered some of the best ocean views in the Southern Hemisphere, it was also known for Hobart, the capital of the tiny Australian state, and the most well-known portal to the icy wasteland that was the Antarctic. A myriad of research stations from around the world had established bases both at Hobart and at the Antarctic, making the place a hotbed of scientific activity. Now, here at the Stratos Foundation's Hobart Training Command, one could push oneself to the limit, and simultaneously obtain feedback from several diverse sources after testing new inventions. Or so the thinking had gone.

In reality, many of the scientists stationed here wanted nothing to do with "the soldiers", and deep mistrust of the Foundation's activities was rife amongst the locals. The staff at the training center found themselves very much alone in the city, which, despite its small size and remarkable location, still housed a vibrant cluster of just over two hundred thousand people. Earning the enmity of all of them wasn't exactly the best way to make friends, so as a result, the Foundation had to pull in their own researchers and military experts to the new base, many of whom strongly disliked cold weather, but had to go anyway. This drill sergeant included.

"Now that we've concluded the tour, y'all will be needing some rest." The drill sergeant, having returned to the warmth, had also regained his drawl. "Tomorrow, eight o'clock sharp, down here at the lobby, in alphabetical order like we just practiced. Dismissed!" Unsurprisingly, he was once again the first to go.

Holdt trudged up the stairs as the new recruits began to chat. In truth, many of them were of higher ranks than privates, perhaps even higher up the ladder than the drill sergeant himself. But they as of yet still knew very little about Stratos, so they had to go with it. Not that they minded – it was all very exciting, being the first actual soldiers to have the opportunity to be at the forefront of current technology.

"Tired?" The soldier to her right grinned. "You look like you're not from around here."

"Is anyone really from around here?" A few chuckles came from the front and back. The soldier laughed heartily.

"Well, I'm South African, so I can say I've been close enough. Name's Nadia Currall, by the way."

"Senna. Senna Holdt."

"Holdt? Is that German?"

"Sure is."

"Interesting. I've never met anyone from there before."

"It's an honor to be the first."

The floor they were staying on was comprised entirely of dormitory rooms, with a lounge and gaming room in the center. The rooms themselves were suites with two bedrooms each, and one shared bathroom per unit. All very nice, and if the Stratos Foundation could afford to keep things comfy, no one could possibly complain about the weather, especially with central heating installed.

"Makes you wonder who pays for all this." By some twist of fate, Holdt found herself paired with Nadia in the same suite. In all honesty, Holdt wasn't the best at making friends, and someone who was willing to talk about just about anything, as she soon found, suited her just fine.

"But it's great, isn't it?" Nadia gazed around the suite, which had its own mini common room, complete with a television embedded in the wall, and a computer with a holographic monitor and keyboard. The plushy sofa was an added bonus. "Looks like a hotel, almost. You're lucky the German army sent you. I'm lucky the higher-ups back in South Africa sent me, too. I feel like this is gonna be great. Don't you think?"

"I wish I were as hyped up as you are." Holdt opened the door to her room. The luggage had already been dealt with, and was stacked neatly on a rack next to her bed. Very efficient. "I arrived this morning at Canberra and was shipped straight over here. I don't think I can stay awake for much longer."

"Well, if you want to sleep right now, just get your bath in the morning. That's what I usually do if I get jet-lagged."

"Sure thing." Holdt pulled off her shoes, undressed as quickly as she could, and was asleep before her head reached the pillow.

~...~

The Hobart Training Command was one of the few research bases in Hobart that actually had a hangar from and to which aircraft could fly. Of course, no one else really wanted to borrow it, as the presence of military jets and fighters drove away the vast majority of outsiders. Because of this, it was perfect for performing experiments that the Foundation didn't want anyone else seeing.

Like tests on the Stratos engine, for instance.

The snow from the night before had not cleared, and with the sun glaring through the high frosted windows in the hangar and reflecting off the almost blinding whiteness outside, much of the hangar's interior found ample illumination.

For each of the recruits, of whom there were ten, there was a bracer laid on the table in front of them. In each bracer was installed a brand-new Stratos system, each one an entirely different brand, organized and modeled by the governments of their respective countries.

No one really knew what to think or say. Not even a single quip from Nadia broke the air. This was a moment that could make history, and the ten soldiers put on their respective bracers in silence as the drill sergeant looked on.

"Now, ladies, once you've got those cuffs secured, you'll want to stand as far away from each other as possible." He pointed to an unoccupied space of considerable size in the far corner of the hangar, buried deep inside a throng of fighter jets and cargo planes. "We'll head there. Again, stand away from each other."

"Sir, why aren't you wearing one?" Nadia asked. "Aren't you going to teach us how to use this directly?"

The drill sergeant looked perplexed, which in turn also confused many of the recruits. "Why would I wear one? I couldn't even if I wanted to."

"What do you mean?" Holdt asked.

"Haven't you heard?" The drill sergeant gave a half-chuckle. "The Stratos can only be operated by women. Don't ask me why, I didn't invent these things."

The recruits looked at each other. Indeed, all ten of them were female. And all of them knew this meant a great deal, especially considering many special branches of their respective national armies still almost exclusively recruited men, as women never seemed to have the physique and fitness required for such operations. If the Stratos was female-exclusive, what would that mean for the current marines and special ops, divisions of the army that future regiments consisting entirely of Stratos pilots could conceivably replace?

"When you're done having your girl moments, you can come over here, and I'll teach you how to use the Stratos. From a safe distance, of course." They trotted after him, a little gingerliness now in their steps. Suddenly, the bracers seemed somewhat heavier on their wrists.

"Now," the drill sergeant began, after having separated all the recruits to his satisfaction, "you'll see that on your bracers there are a wide variety of buttons. Even though each bracer is different, and some of yours may have extra functions that you can unlock later, the core functionality of each bracer is essentially identical. Make sure you remember what these buttons do, because if you're in a battle and you forget how to turn on your shield whilst the enemy is prepping a machine gun right in your face, you're as good as dead. So listen closely."

He took a sheet of paper out of his pocket. On it were front and back diagrams of a basic Stratos bracer, without any of the fancy add-ons.

"Blue button, here," he pointed to one of the buttons, "is the main activation switch. It's not a push button, mind you. You push down, and then turn it counterclockwise a little. Make sure no one is near you before you turn your machines on. Also, try and forgive any initial discomfort."

That last sentence put the recruits on alert, and all of them looked at each other again, too anxious to make the first move.

"Come on, girls. The Stratos won't activate themselves."

 _Right._ Holdt closed her eyes, let her hand hover over the button, and took the plunge.

Immediately, the bracer began to heat up, increasing rapidly in temperature. Just as Holdt thought the heat would actually burn her skin, a field blossomed from several small projectors poking out of both ends of the bracer, crawling up her arm like a swarm of hot, angry bugs. Uncomfortable couldn't begin to describe it.

 _If it's going to be like this every time, I might just quit this program._

The field, which glowed azure, began to coalesce at certain points on her body, forming recognizable shapes: an elbow pad here, a shoulder pad there. The bracer itself sprouted several protrusions, which formed into sockets that housed a seemingly arbitrary variety of small weaponry, including a taser, a wrist cannon, and what looked like a plasma-tipped bayonet. Holdt clenched the metal fiber glove that had formed around her hand, and the bayonet shot out, extending several inches past her fist. _Handy._

She felt a weight on both her shoulders, and turned to have her head almost collide with a giant back-mounted, double-barreled cannon. The cannon was not actually attached to her back – its base was floating behind her, suspended by some kind of powerful electromagnetic trickery, whilst the barrel was leaning on her shoulder, held in place by another, slightly weaker electromagnet.

What struck her most about her machine was that it was mainly jet-black, with a sleek red trim running down the sides of her wrists, shoulders, and the underbelly of the back cannon. It was a great color scheme, to say the least, and the look of her suit almost made up for the itch that had been running up and down her skin during the whole process. Almost.

As the sensation began to wear off, a piece of headgear coiled around her head. When Nadia saw this, she began to laugh.

"What?" Holdt tried to look up, but couldn't see what was on her head, much less what seemed to be so funny about it. "Does it look weird?"

Some of the recruits looked over, and began laughing as well. Holdt felt a wave of irritation wash over her.

"Just tell me! I don't decide what these are meant to look like!"

The drill sergeant offered himself a small smile, and then rummaged in his pocket, taking out his phone. "Here," he said, handing the phone to her. He had switched on the camera, and as Holdt looked at the screen, the image in the selfie camera looked back.

"You can't be serious," she said, amongst a backdrop of hearty chuckles.

The headgear was a simple device. A metal headband, black and gold, with several grooves running along its circumference.

And two giant rabbit ears, as conspicuous as they were seemingly useless, clad in the same design, poking out proudly from above her considerably smaller human ears.

She gave Nadia, who was still in stitches, a look of complete helplessness.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."


End file.
